


Walk Over My Grave

by irisbleufic



Series: Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed [31]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Cemetery, Childhood Memories, Difficult Decisions, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, How Do I Tag, Lazy Mornings, Lazy Sex, M/M, Married Life, Morning After, Morning Sex, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Murder Husbands, Or Maybe More Reliable Than You Think, POV Edward Nygma, Psychopaths In Love, Sleepy Cuddles, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: Edward rested his sticky cheek against Oswald's hip, sated.  “I could sleep a little longer,” he said, “but since we only have seven days, we should...make the proper sacrifices.  Visits...to.”“To?” Oswald asked, flopping back against the pillows, massaging Edward's scalp until he felt like mush.“Many cultures extol the virtues of appealing to one's dearly departed for success,” Edward replied lazily.“You just want an excuse to complain to my mother,” Oswald concluded, continuing to pet his hair.“For theclub, Oswald,” Edward clarified, shamelessly relaxed.  “We should leave flowers.”[Follows closely from themes inWYFIR,LON, and the last few DDO ficlets,Ghost Storiesespecially—but can be read as a stand-alone ghost story.]





	Walk Over My Grave

Edward had been awake for around thirty minutes, at least to his semi-reliable internal reckoning. Hesitant to open his eyes, he pressed Oswald's hand over his heart. They hadn't even bothered with pajamas the previous evening—after Oswald, sober in record time, had cleaned them up.

Licking his lips, Edward finally gave in, disliking the way his eyelashes scraped the pillowcase.

The hum in his blood wasn't a residual effect of the alcohol, _no_. He'd missed his pills again.

“Fuck,” Edward whispered to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. “Fuck, _fuck_ —”

“There are more efficient ways of getting what you want,” mumbled Oswald, sleepily, his hand creeping down to brush Edward's belly. “I'm not up to speed,” he added, pushing his hips against the small of Edward's back to demonstrate his lack of requisite reaction, “but...”

Edward squeezed his eyes shut at the teasing graze of Oswald's knuckles up the underside of his erection. He schooled his thoughts as well as he could, willing this— _this_ , this sensation only—to override the prescience of relapse. He'd rather let Oswald pleasure him than start seeing things.

 _Unless you had a shot at glimpsing someone you're desperate to speak with_ , said the voice he'd banished to all but a murmur synonymous with the static in his veins. _Someone you met once_.

“Suck me off,” Edward begged, ignoring it, turning in Oswald's arms. “Like you wanted to last night.”

Cast in shadow, Oswald peered at him fondly: one eye obscured by the puffiness of his pillow, the other piercingly bright. He slipped his hand between Edward's legs again, insistent.

“On your back,” he said, pushing Edward flat against the mattress without so much as a disruption in the demanding strokes he'd begun to deliver. “Do you want the covers down, or are you cold?”

“I'm cold,” Edward mumbled against Oswald's mouth, clinging to him for a moment beyond the bruising kiss Oswald had just given him. “Will you be able to...um, to breathe?”

“I guess we'll find out,” Oswald replied, too put-together and mischievous for just before nine o'clock on a Saturday morning. He trailed his right hand from Edward's cheek down to Edward's chest as he ducked under the covers, his left hand still maddeningly busy.

“Can't wait,” Edward sighed, at a loss for anything useful to say as he tangled his fingers in Oswald's hair, wrinkling his nose momentarily at the tacky feel of slept-in product. The swipe of Oswald's tongue along his inner thighs, one after the other, wiped the slate of his mind _blank_.

Surprising, once he'd recovered from a lung-crushing orgasm, to realize that he'd lasted nearly five minutes with Oswald alternating between deep-throating him and lapping delicately just about anywhere _but_ the tip of him. He clutched at Oswald's shoulders, gasping for air.

“G'morning, handsome,” Oswald murmured, rewarding him with another kiss, which, for obvious reasons, was messier than usual. He licked greedily past Edward's teeth, pressing against Edward's hip. “I think you'll find it cozy under there.”

“Convenient, since you're up to speed _now_ ,” said Edward, accustomed to the taste of himself on Oswald's lips. He rolled Oswald over, tangling them hopelessly in the covers. “Hi.”

“I'm too hot,” Oswald complained, pushing the duvet as far down Edward's shoulders as he could.

“Humble, you aren't,” Edward remarked cheerfully, relieving enough of the fabric-and-fluff snare to kiss his way down Oswald's chest. “But I'm here for that,” he said, scooting further down the mattress, dragging the covers with him while Oswald panted desperately at the ceiling. “Teeth?”

“No,” Oswald managed faintly, winding his fingers tightly in Edward's hair. “Do you want me to...”

“Yes, thank you,” said Edward, emphatically, tonguing Oswald's slit until Oswald squirmed. “Pull it.”

“ _Tease_ ,” Oswald spat, yanking sharply with both hands. “Oh _God_. Oh, Ed, that's—”

Edward took a ragged breath, blinking back ecstatic tears. He swallowed around Oswald, wincing, knowing he'd never be quite as adept at swallowing without discomfort as he’d like.

“ _Oh_ ,” Oswald moaned again, low and drawn-out. “Ed, stop. Now. _Edward_ , I...”

Edward pulled off just in time to wring the remainder from Oswald with a few twists of his hand.

Oswald propped himself up on his elbows to watch, dazed and adoring. “That's...a look on you.”

Edward rested his sticky cheek against Oswald's hip, sated. “I could sleep a little longer,” he said, “but since we only have seven days, we should...make the proper sacrifices. Visits... _to_.”

“To?” Oswald asked, flopping back against the pillows, massaging Edward's scalp until he felt like mush.

“Many cultures extol the virtues of appealing to one's dearly departed for success,” Edward replied lazily.

“You just want an excuse to complain to my mother,” Oswald concluded, continuing to pet his hair.

“For the _club_ , Oswald,” Edward clarified, shamelessly relaxed. “We should leave flowers.”

Oswald kneaded Edward's shoulders, shaking him with a slight roll of his hips. “Fine. I'm sold.”

They showered, businesslike, before Oswald accompanied Edward to the spare room and dressed him while wearing nothing. Edward couldn’t help but joke that maybe he should’ve done that the first time Oswald had asked for his assistance; maybe it would have expedited their romance.

Oswald pinned Edward’s tie and kissed him, wincing at the strain in his leg, so Edward helped him back to the master bedroom and made him sit through most of _his_ dressing. He didn’t protest.

Once they arrived downstairs, Olga pretended to be unimpressed with their request for cereal, milk, and orange juice.

Sveta, who’d been lurking in the kitchen with her for further training, brought it out.

“I think what Auntie’s too polite to say is that you two are being basic bitches,” she said blandly.

Edward gave her a chagrined smirk while Oswald ignored the comment. “You’re a winner.”

Sveta hefted the Lalique pitcher off the tray and filled their glasses. “I learn best by observation.”

“Tell Olga if she wants to deliver a slap like that one, she should do it herself,” Oswald cautioned.

Sveta went discernibly pale, appealing to Edward while Oswald picked up the _Gazette_. “Sir.”

“Bring us a pot of Lady Grey, and we’ll call it even,” Edward said, falsely stern, winking at her. “Go.”

“I see what you did there,” Oswald cautioned from behind the newspaper. “Don’t go too easy on her.”

“Just because Olga had to earn the right to sass you doesn’t mean Sveta should,” Edward snapped.

Oswald huffed and discarded the paper on the floor, but there was no tangible malice in his expression.

“My love, you’re a fright without caffeine,” he said indulgently. “Tea’s a good call. Where to first?”

“Flower shop,” Edward insisted, dumping the creamer full of milk on his Cheerios. “The one near my old apartment; I don’t care if it’s out of the way. I got to know them. They carry lilies, both kinds.”

“I don’t know about you,” Oswald said, “but I can’t remember the last time we went unsupervised.”

“Foolish move,” Edward said, “although it may be expedient. Gabe’s not here, and I think Caroline had some kind of nefarious plans for Vee this weekend involving her aging mother.”

“You’re not quite yourself,” replied Oswald, tentatively, which was usually code for _I know you missed your dose last night and haven’t taken one this morning_. “Do you want me to drive?”

Edward nodded reluctantly. “I would’ve volunteered otherwise, seeing as I know the way to both the shop and to Stoker. But what am I saying, you know this city as well as I do.”

“Even better,” Oswald said, reaching for Edward’s free hand, bringing it up to his cheek. “Ed, eat.”

They hadn’t really had occasion to be a typical, bickering couple in the front seat of a car—well, _ever_ , now that Edward thought about it. Forty-five minutes later, he was in the passenger seat with two mixed floral bundles ( _Lilium longiflorum, Lilium orientalis, Iris chrysographes_ ) while Oswald swore passive-aggressively at traffic. Edward set a hand on Oswald’s thigh.

Stealing a glance at Edward as the city bus in front of them budged at last, Oswald briefly quieted.

“I don’t like buses very much,” he admitted, the strain in his voice suggesting some hidden account.

“That makes two of us,” Edward said, rubbing Oswald’s thigh consolingly. “Please watch the road.”

Claiming that Oswald got them to the cemetery on time was macabre, but Edward said it anyway.

Laughing, Oswald parked with precision on the grass, just off the path, and called him a holy terror.

“There’s nothing holy about me,” Edward said after the few minutes it took them to get out of the car and make their halting way up the rise, amongst the graves. “There she is. Always waiting.”

Even though Oswald had his cane, he was leaning more heavily on Edward’s arm than usual. They’d been rough on themselves in the past twenty-four hours. Taking one of the bouquets, he disengaged from Edward and approached the grave. He set the blooms against Gertrud’s headstone.

“You never had any patience,” he said quietly, summoning a smile nonetheless. “Except with me.”

Edward took this as his cue that it was fine to approach, sliding one arm around Oswald’s waist.

“I could tell you the rest of what happened,” he offered. “[The only time that she and I ever met](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004431).”

Oswald bit his lip, seemingly unable to look away from where his mother lay. “[I wrote her a letter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11624541/chapters/27147999).”

“That sounds like a reasonable thing to do,” Edward remarked, kissing his temple. “When?”

“On the cruise ship,” Oswald confessed. “While you slept. I used the wine bottle to set it adrift.”

“Was that before I woke up and heard you on the phone with fish?” Edward asked in amazement.

Oswald nodded, staring at his hands, which he’d folded on his cane. “I needed her so much, Ed.”

Edward couldn’t decide on what to say for a few seconds, rushing ahead anyway for better or worse.

“I only told you up through the part where I brought her a cup of tea,” he prompted. “I told you I’d save the rest of the story for when you needed her most. Would you like to hear it?”

“If this is a kind of ritual for our success, Ed,” replied Oswald, grinning tearfully, “then yes, I would.”

Edward nodded at Gertrud’s headstone, making what he hoped was the appropriate inclusive gesture.

“Once Captain Essen finished her line of questioning, she stepped aside and let me approach you,” he said, his eyes tracking over letters engraved in granite. “I handed you my favorite mug, the one with the question-mark on it, and really hoped it wouldn’t burn your hands. You thanked me, called me _Mr. Nygma_. I told you it was hot, that you might want to blow on it. And you—” he paused, the off-kilter lightning in his every nerve flaring, keen with warning “—you said, _You will know him when you see him._ ”

“ _Danke_ ,” Gertrud said, the kind rasp of her voice immediately to his left. “I still thank you.”

Edward tore his glance away from the inscription on her stone, staring. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course I’d come for something like this,” Oswald said. “You’ve done it alone too often.”

Edward continued to exchange wide-eyed, expectant glances with Gertrud. She was dressed exactly the way she’d been on the day she walked into the GCPD, her hair a wispy mess. He swallowed, directing his gaze back toward her stone so that Oswald wouldn’t find anything amiss.

“You only stayed long enough to drink your tea,” he went on, longing to apologize for not facing her.

“Did she say anything else when she left?” Oswald asked, sniffling as he beamed. “Her last words?”

“Tell him that if he doesn’t remember my last words to _him_ ,” said Gertrud, with mock-reproach, “he is in trouble.” She laughed, a perfect echo of Oswald’s bitterest amusement.

Edward shook his head, unable to prevent himself from looking at her. “You said you disliked the revolving door, so I let you out the side,” he told Gertrud, wanly. “I held the door. You smiled.”

Gertrud eagerly nodded at him, her expression identical to the one in his memory. “You were kind.”

Edward closed his eyes, banishing the remainder of his recollections associated with the building.

“Oswald, you should take these to your father,” he said, handing over the remaining bouquet. “Have some time alone with him. You’re right, I…do want to complain to your mother. Just a bit.”

Taking the flowers, Oswald leaned up to pat Edward’s cheek, leaving a kiss in his gloved hand’s wake.

“How well you have learned to make him go away when you need,” said Gertrud, almost enviously.

“It’s an acquired skill, Ms. Kapelput,” said Edward, turning fully to face her. “Are you real, or am I—”

Gertrud shrugged, grinning winsomely. “Like you say yourself, does it matter so much what I am?”

Edward had to admit her point was valid. “We’re embarking on a business venture,” Edward said.

“I know this, the hammering and the sawing,” said Gertrud, wearily. “All hours of the day, all week.”

Edward was tempted to ask her whether she often followed them there, but if she was a figment of his imagination, the point was moot. She was with them constantly, and she lived in Oswald, too.

“Your son would like your blessing,” he said. “And your favor. More than anything, and so would I.”

Gertrud touched his hand, which was something no hallucination had ever done. Her fingers burned.

“For the tea and the flowers, I will give it,” she said softly. “Like my Oswald, you are a good boy.”

Edward shook his head fearfully, his eyes beginning to sting. “It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Gertrud squeezed his hand before letting go, stepping around to stand before him, skirts swishing.

“Edward,” she said, desolately imploring, “why is it I cannot find my beloved here in this beyond?”

Edward gasped, reaching for her, struck with [the initials he’d seen carved in the servants’ quarters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12347526).

“Maybe,” he said, fingertips grazing her shoulders, “he’s been looking for you in all the wrong—”

He closed his fists on empty, frostbitten air, arms outstretched. He waited a heartbeat, but to no avail.

Rattled, Edward turned on his heel and made his ambling way up to the next paved path. With a gentle bend and a sharp left, it led to a scattering of graves overshadowed by the Van Dahl mausoleum.

Oswald was seated on the marble structure’s broad stairs, cane propped next to him, bouquet in hand.

Edward took the flowers away from Oswald and set one foot on the lowest step. He leaned forward just far enough to drop the offering in the iron sconce next to the securely-barred door.

“Took you long enough,” said Oswald, morosely. “You must have had a lot of grievances to raise.”

Edward sat down beside him, companionably bumping Oswald’s shoulder. “She talked my ear off.”

Oswald broke into a grudging smile, scooting even closer. “She always does,” he said with affection.

Tipping Oswald’s chin up for a kiss, Edward said, “I’d give anything to know what you’re thinking.”

“It’s never occurred to me before,” Oswald said hesitantly, “whether I should be buried next to her, or in…” He waved at the door behind them, disheartened. “I bear his likeness, but not his name.”

Edward had a thought so startling its simplicity that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered—

“You own both your mother’s plot and your father’s resting place,” he said slowly, piecing together the puzzle that Gertrud had set before him. “There’s no reason you couldn’t have her re-interred _here_.”

Oswald blinked at him for several interminable seconds, features crumpling in wrecked gratitude.

“They’d be together,” he said tremulously. “Ed, and—I hesitate to ask, but where would _you_ —”

Edward bit the inside of his cheek, taken by devastated surprise a second time in as many seconds.

“My parents aren’t buried together,” he said. “My mother’s here in Stoker, in the section leased by her synagogue, but my father’s upstate. I was all too happy to honor _that_ religious prohibition.”

“If you wanted to be buried with your mother, Edward,” Oswald said gently, “I would understand.”

 _If ghosts are real_ , Edward thought, _and that’s a very significant if, and if place of burial affects who you can locate and who you cannot—_

“Wherever you go, let me rest,” he said, clutching Oswald’s hand to his chest. “I’d find you again, too, even in death.”


End file.
